


Shameless

by sonofabiscuit77



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Chubby Dean, Dirty Talk, Domestic, M/M, Older Dean, Older Sam, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 02:52:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonofabiscuit77/pseuds/sonofabiscuit77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Dean's kinda shameless sometimes...</i>  Blatant, somewhat schmoopy, definitely dirty futurefic, set about 8 years post 4-22.  Warnings for Dean's porno commentary and maybe a bit of pudge.<br/>(Written in 2009, so it was futurefic at the time.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shameless

Dean’s kinda shameless sometimes.

Sam's working on the laptop, researching a new case. He's entering the usual search criteria, trolling through the same entries on the first couple of pages.

“Hey, Sam, I got a present for you.”

He raises his eyes from the screen; Dean’s cock is directly in front of him, blood red and hard, jutting out at an almost perfect 90’ angle. He raises his eyes higher, Dean’s smirking down at him, jeans unbuttoned, hands splayed loosely over his hips.

“See something you like?”

“I’m busy.”

Dean snaps his laptop closed, the slightly delayed Windows log-off tone following seconds later.

“Now you’re not.”

Sam hesitates for a second, but this is pretty much a no-brainer. He’s gonna do it, he’s gonna suck Dean’s cock, he loves sucking Dean’s cock. He glances up again, licks his lips and lunges forward, taking Dean off guard as he sucks the head into his mouth in one huge swallow.

Dean makes a dramatic gasping noise and grabs onto Sam’s head with both hands, tangling his fingers in Sam's hair and pressing his fingertips into his skull.

“...Go on, take it, Sam, take my cock, fuck, your mouth, so fuckin’ good, you want it so fuckin’ much, want my cock, you slut, you gorgeous fuckin’ perfect boy...”

It’s embarrassing how much of a turn on Dean’s porno talk is. He used to find it off-putting, begging Dean to shut up and just take it. But that was a long time ago, and it never worked, and now... he’s kinda gotten used to it. Dean never fucking shuts up and the pornographic running commentary is something he’s come to expect, to maybe even get off on.

He sucks Dean’s cock messily, licks and slobbers over the head, smooths thick slimy saliva down the shaft and over Dean’s balls just how he likes it.

“...Fuck, Sammy, gonna, Jesus, gonna come, so fuckin’ hot, little brother, so fuckin’ gorgeous...”

Sam pulls off, gasps for breath and lets Dean shoot over his face. It’s either that or swallow, and he’s never gotten used to swallowing his brother's jizz, he always ends up gagging and choking in the least sexy way possible. Anyway, Dean fucking loves coming on him, any part of him will do. As long as Dean can spray Sam with his manjuice (his words), and rub it into Sam’s skin he’s happy.

Dean swirls his fingers through the warm strings of come on Sam’s cheeks and forehead, and smears it across his face like it’s the world’s most expensive moisturizer. “Jesus, you’re so hot like that, my jizz on your gorgeous face, my Sam, so fuckin’ hot,” he says.

Sam groans and tilts his head back to let Dean massage the come into his throat. He’s read lots of things about the moisturizing properties of semen, so he may as well let his skin reap the benefits of his brother’s fetish. Besides, it feels nice, Dean’s fingers are gentle, loving, worshipful almost.

Dean finishes up and kneels down in front of him. He parts Sam’s thighs and unzips his fly, releasing Sam's hard cock.

“My turn now,” he says with a smirk, “watch out, dude, I’m gonna unleash your beast and give it the best goddamned workout of its life.”

Yeah, so Dean’s pretty corny too, but whatever, he does give amazing head.

 

 

Dean’s shamelessness does not just relate to sex, his eating habits have also got the market cornered on shameless and disgusting.

Sam’s trying to work again, Dean’s not. Dean’s sitting on Sam’s bed, watching some apparently hilarious reality TV show (judging by the guffaws of laughter) and munching on an enormous bag of Frito Lays, crumbs tumbling down his shirt and onto Sam’s bed. Sam watches him cram a huge handful into his mouth and wipe his greasy fingers off on the sheets, _Sam’s_ sheets.

“Fuck’s sake, Dean, would you _not_ do that?” he snaps.

“Huh?” Dean turns his head to look at him, blinking.

“Eat on your own goddamned bed. Quit fucking up mine!”

“But yours is so much more comfortable,” Dean protests, going for another huge handful of chips.

Sam sighs irritably, pushes away his laptop and gets to his feet. He stalks over towards the bed, snatches the bag of chips from Dean’s hands and tosses it to the floor.

Dean gapes up at him, mouth working soundlessly, pieces of half-mashed chip sticking to his teeth.

“Close your mouth, you’re catching flies.”

“You stole my chips!".

“I’m doing you a favor, Dean.”

“What? No you’re not.”

Sam sinks to the bed beside him, reaches to prod his brother in the stomach. His finger sinks in a way and Sam raises his eyebrow pointedly, pinching a hunk of soft, doughy belly. “Yeah. I am.”

Dean huffs out an irritated breath and pushes his hand away. “Fuck off, leave me alone.”

“Fine,” Sam shrugs, “but don’t bitch at me when we have to get you new jeans. Again.”

“Cause you shrink them on purpose!”

 

 

They hunt the spirit of a five year old boy haunting the communal swimming pool where he drowned over thirty years ago. Sam flicks through local archives and calculates that the kid’s responsible for at least eleven drownings over the years, all of them children under the age of six, all at the same pool.

It’s a routine hunt. The research takes them less than an hour: little Joshua Rayne is buried in an easily locatable grave, and, for once, his parents haven’t kept any remnants of his body as souvenirs. It’s refreshingly easy and Sam spends the entire time they dig up the bones waiting for something to go wrong. Dean is morose and silent, and when they leave the graveyard, just as the dawn is beginning to light up the sky with pink dramatic streaks, Dean pauses by the fresh gravestones of the two most recent victims. There are wilted flowers, soggy cards and sad looking teddy bears decorating the two graves, and Sam can see the tension etched into Dean’s shoulders as he takes it all in.

“We did good here,” he says quietly, stepping up and bumping his shoulder with Dean’s.

Dean turns his head, looks at him for a long moment. Finally he nods his head and turns to leave.

Dean’s distant and closed off for the rest of the day, letting Sam drive while he hides behind his cheap, drugstore sunglasses. Sam takes one look at the tight lines around his brother’s mouth and turns the car in the direction of the cabin. If Dean realizes where he’s headed, he doesn’t comment.

The cabin used to belong to a hunter friend of Bobby’s who was killed by a harpy over six years ago. Bobby inherited it from him and ever since, it’s been Sam and Dean’s unofficial base. Bobby’s never used it, insisting he doesn’t need it, so they’ve taken it over: using it as a rest stop, a supply store and somewhere they can retreat to when they just need a damn break. Today definitely feels like one of those times. They’ve fixed it up over the years so that’s it’s almost homely. Hell, compared to every other shithole they’ve ever called home, it _is_ homely, despite the lack of central heating and the leaky roof.

Sam stocks up the refrigerator with groceries while Dean runs through a checklist of their dwindling supplies. When he joins Sam in the kitchen to lend a hand with the pot roast, he’s already looking happier, grinding his cock up against Sam’s ass and groping him with his usual lack of shame while Sam attempts to dice vegetables.

That night after they fuck in the one double bed, Dean curls into him, throws one arm over Sam’s chest and holds on tight. Dean doesn’t usually share a bed with him after they fuck, preferring to slide off to his own queen bed to sleep, so Sam lies awake for a while to savour it, to enjoy their closeness, though he’d never admit this to Dean.

They spend the next three days lazing about, futzing around with the open wood fire, eating home-cooked food and just reveling in each other’s company and each other’s bodies. On their third night, Sam wanders outside and sees Dean on the rusty porch swing. He's sitting there, huddled into his leather jacket, breath leaving his mouth in cloudy, white streams. His head is tipped back and he’s looking up at the sky, at the twinkling swirls of stars with a soft thoughtful look on his face. He looks up and sees Sam. Wordlessly, he reaches out a hand and tugs Sam down beside him, pressing his cold lips against Sam’s warm ones as Sam tumbles into him.

This is it, Sam thinks, this.

 

 

Dean doesn’t get hit on as often as he used to. It’s something that bothers him, and when he’s drunk, he’ll lament his lack of game to Sam in tragic rambling sentences, begging Sam to put him out of his misery now that he’s old and losing his looks.

“You’re not losing your looks,” Sam tells him patiently.

“Then why wasn’t she into me? And look - not one of those chicks over there is checking me out?”

“Maybe it’s because you’ve had your hand down my pants all the time we’ve been in here?” Sam says.

Dean blinks, then slowly removes his hand from Sam’s back pocket, staring at it as if he’s surprised it’s still there.

“Huh. Yeah, I guess, that might have something to do with it.”

Dean cheers up, but Sam knows that it’s not just that. Dean’s older now, pushing forty, and his old chat up lines make him come off as sleazy more often than not. Besides, he’s always with Sam, and girls aren’t stupid, they can tell when a guy’s not really into them. The way Dean’s always glancing Sam’s way to check up on him while he’s talking to anyone else has got to be a dead giveaway.

Sam nudges Dean with his elbow and drains the rest of his beer, “C’mon, let’s go already.”

Dean’s luck turns when they’re in a gay bar in Chicago. The place is a pseudo pool hall and it’s crammed with groups of tight-shirted, fat-walleted guys who, to judge by the whoops and cheers, are obviously playing for big stakes. Sam watches them closely as Dean comes over with their beers and shots of Jager.

“Jager? Really?”

“It was on promotion,” shrugs Dean.

Sam makes a face, but he downs his shot anyway, it’s as gross as he remembers.

He watches the pool players for another few minutes, then gets to his feet and strips off his jacket and outer shirt. Underneath he’s just wearing his undershirt, but it’s clean and impressively tight over his chest and shoulders, it’ll get the reaction he wants.

"Woo-hoo, Sammy. Go get 'em, tiger!" Dean growls, giving him an appreciative leer.

Sam smirks, tosses his brother a look over his shoulder as he strolls over to the pool area.

Sam’s $200 up and has already shot down two guys when he takes a break, taking time out to check up on Dean. Dean’s doing fine, of course he is. He's deep in conversation with a guy of about his own age who could be a (much) less hot version of Dean: he’s wearing an almost identical leather jacket over a flannel shirt and has Dean’s exact same haircut. This is what Dean would look like if he were gay, Sam thinks, but really, it isn't much different to how Dean looks anyway, though this guy is nowhere near as pretty.

Dean’s flirting pretty shamelessly with this loser, tilting his head back and laughing out loud at something the guy's telling him, which is probably not _that_ funny. Sam stares at the guy’s face, he’s watching Dean speak, watching his mouth with a glazed, hungry look in his eyes, and Sam feels the unwelcome surge of jealousy in his gut. He gets jealous easily, always has. Jess used to tease him about it, but Dean’s the one that can truly drive him crazy. He’s spent so many years watching Dean with other people, and although he knows that Dean’s not going to do anything, he can’t help the gnawing irritation in his stomach.

He turns back to his game, managing to win another $500 and knock back another blatant come-on from one of the more persistent of his fellow players. When he finally does get the chance to check on Dean again, he sees that his brother is alone, admirer obviously dismissed. It makes Sam feel enormously smug. He finishes up his game quickly, grabs his winnings and practically runs back across the bar to Dean.

“You ready to go?” he asks as he pulls his overshirt back on.

“I’ve been ready a long time. Been watching you play, so damn hot the way you took those losers for everything they had.” Dean’s voice is a low growl, his skin pink and flushed, eyes dark and wanting when they meet Sam’s.

Outside, Sam shoves Dean back against the side of the car, ignoring Dean’s protests of _mind the fuckin’ paintjob, Sam_ , thrusts his tongue into his brother’s mouth and kisses him breathlessly for at least two minutes. Dean’s going crazy in his arms, thrusting shamelessly against his thigh as Sam kisses and kisses him, panting out breathless, incoherent words between bitten off kisses. “God, want you, want you so fuckin’ much, Sammy, c’mon, Sam, c’mon kiss me, my Sammy…”

They jerk each other off right there and then, smooshed up against the Impala with their hands around each other’s cocks, jeans half-unbuttoned and shirt tails getting in the way.

 

 

Dean turns thirty nine when they’re working a missing person’s case in Boston. It’s a bust, nothing supernatural at all, (the teenage girl really did run away with her skanky boyfriend). Sam feels irritable and annoyed, as if they’ve been shortchanged. And if he’s irritable, then Dean’s worse; distant and on edge, bitching and picking stupid fights over nothing, blaming Sam for getting them such a shitty case. Sam bites his tongue and doesn’t rise to it. He knows Dean’s acting like this because of his birthday, after all, _Dean is turning thirty nine_ , he’s getting older, getting closer to middle-age, it’s kinda unbelievable.

Dean’s about to take them out of the city when Sam stops him and makes him drive them to the Four Seasons Hotel. He still has his winnings from the gay pool hall in Chicago and Dean won big in a poker game a couple of nights ago, so they have over $1500 between them, more than enough to guarantee a night in a deluxe suite. They need this: they need the break and it _is_ Dean’s birthday.

Dean follows his lead with enthusiasm when Sam introduces them to the sweetly smiling desk clerk as a honeymooning couple who just decided to take a spur of the moment break in Boston on their tour of New England. It’s a good move, as she gushes over them and promises to send up “not one, but two!” bottles of the complementary champagne and a deluxe fruit basket.

“Fruit basket?” bitches Dean as they ride the elevator. "A fruit basket is not worth pretending to be married to you.”

Sam ignores him; personally, he’s pretty excited by the fruit basket.

Dean’s mood immediately lightens up when he sees the hot tub, and he’s practically vibrating with joy when he discovers their thousand and one Red-Hott XXX channels.

“Oh, man, this is gonna be awesome. Let’s just not sleep, like, at all.”

They hit the hot tub first, and okay, so it’s a tight squeeze for both of them, and every time either of them move it causes tidal waves of water to slosh all over the floor, but it’s still pretty fucking awesome. Sam pulls Dean full against him, wraps his arms around his torso and runs soapy fingers through Dean’s hair, tracing patterns on his skin and tweaking his nipples.

Dean twists his head around and gives him a considering look. “You think I could hold my breath for long enough to suck you off?”

“No, and I don’t want you to try either. You’ll drown.”

“You’re such a killjoy, Sammy.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” he says, and Dean does.

Their first fuck is outside the hot tub, the two of them half-masked by the clouds of steam. Dean braces himself on the edge of the marble surround (it’s the perfect height for it) and Sam holds onto the love handles at Dean’s waist as he fucks Dean with deep, resonating thrusts. Dean’s got the usual porno commentary going, begging Sam in harsh, panting breaths, “More, want more, goddamn, fuckin’ fuck me harder, Sam, want your gorgeous cock, come on, fuckin’ do it, Sammy, Jesus fuck… so fuckin’ hot, my little brother…”

They laze around in the complementary white cotton bathrobes afterwards, drink the complementary champagne and eat the complementary fruit. Sam dips the strawberries in the champagne and tries to feed them to Dean who bats his hand away with a contemptuous snort.

“Christ, dude, you’re so fucking gay.”

“Says the guy who just took it up the ass.”

“From his brother,” points out Dean, “the incest totally cancels out the being totally gay thing.”

Sam pulls a face, “You’re so fucked up.”

“Says the guy who just fucked his brother,” counters Dean with a smirk. He snatches up a peach and takes an enormous bite, juice running down his chin and dripping onto the formally pristine bathrobe. Sam laughs and leans over to lick the peach juice off Dean’s face.

Dean orders up some porn on the pay per view and has Sam suck him off while he watches two lesbians mud-wrestling. He follows that up with some gay shit that seems to consist entirely of oiled up schoolboys spanking each other. It gets better when the teachers arrive on scene, and Dean fucks Sam in time with the terrifyingly well-hung principal raping the pretty schoolboy over his desk. Sam cranes his neck so he can watch the action as his brother pounds into him. He should feel embarrassed, (cause, seriously, even as gay porn goes, this shit is shamefully bad), but the whole thing is turning him on to a ridiculous degree, even the painful double-penetration scene.

They fuck once more – Dean riding Sam in the leather desk chair – and suck each other off in the enormous wet room before they have to check out. In the elevator ride back down to the lobby, Sam pushes Dean against the mirrored panels and licks over the hickey he sucked into Dean’s throat, panting out, “Happy birthday, big brother,” between long, sloppy kisses. They don’t break apart until they get to the ground floor, despite the horrified stares coming from the elevator’s other occupants.

An older woman glares at them as they exit the elevator. Sam smiles genially back at her and adjusts his pants. Dean watches, busts out laughing as soon as the woman turns her back on them.

“Oh man, Sam, did you see her face when you called me big brother?”

Sam grins smugly and pinches Dean’s ass. “I sure did.”

Dean grabs his hand, pulls him into one last kiss, whispers, “Best birthday ever,” when he finally pulls away.

 

 

Sam first fooled around with Dean when he was fifteen; he first fucked Dean when he was seventeen. He’s turning thirty five tomorrow, that means he’s been in an (admittedly on/off again, but mainly on again) sexual relationship with his older brother for almost twenty years. That’s more than half his lifetime, that’s four sevenths of his lifetime.

“Don’t you ever get bored of this?” he blurts out.

They’re back at the cabin for Sam’s birthday, getting undressed for bed. Dean’s on the other side of the bedroom, eyes downcast as he unbuttons his shirt. He looks up, frowns at Sam, “Huh? You say something?”

“Me and you? Don’t you ever get bored of having sex with me?”

“What the fuck you talking about? And why aren’t you naked?”

“That’s what I’m talking about – me and you. Do you realize that we’ve been doing this shit for nearly twenty years? Twenty years, dude!”

Dean shrugs, peels off his jeans, stepping on the mud-spattered hems to help them off. “Yeah, I guess it would be about that long.”

“And that doesn’t intimidate you?”

“Why would it intimidate me?” Dean looks genuinely confused. He’s only wearing his boxers now and Sam takes a moment to look at him, really look at him.

Sam can remember being fifteen years old and going down on his big brother for the first time. He can remember how whipcord thin Dean’s body was, his hard abdomen and jutting hipbones, skin stretched so smooth and taut over every perfectly defined muscle, his cock so thick and fat in comparison to his leanness everywhere else. There was no spare flesh, no ounce of fat on him.

Dean is thirty nine now and he looks it. He's older, heavier and softer, with fleshy cheeks and a double chin, rounded belly pushing over the waistband of his boxers; six-pack all but vanished under soft padding, arms and thighs so thick and muscled, ass round and full. Despite the angel reset, Dean’s skin is covered with scars, his hair is riddled with grey and there are lines spidering out from the corners of his eyes and bracketing his mouth. Dean has flesh to spare now and Sam loves it, loves to hold onto it when he fucks Dean, loves to squeeze his love handles, suck bruises into the extra flesh around his jaw, loves to run his hands over his soft, pudgy belly, and worship every scarred and flawed inch of his brother’s body.

Dean is the most beautiful thing on the planet and Sam has never stopped wanting him.

“You’re right,” he says finally. “I just. It scares me.”

“What does?”

“Us,” he says. “How much I love you. How much I want you.”

Dean looks uncomfortable, nodding his head in that way that means he doesn’t know what to say, that he’s trying to hide. Finally, he puffs out his cheeks and raises his head, meeting Sam’s eyes, “Yeah, I. Shit, Sam, me too. You know that, you dumb idiot."

Sam laughs shakily, biting his lip as he feels the hot swell of tears begin to scald the back of his eye sockets. He feels stupidly emotional, doesn't know why exactly, but it's probably cause it's his birthday tomorrow. He's turning thirty-five, he never expected to get past twenty-five.

He takes a breath and steels himself, “Yeah, God. I'm acting like a fuckin' pussy, right? But I love you, man, I just. I love you so much, you know. It's sometimes. Dean, sometimes too much.”

"Dude, you're telling me?"

Sam huffs out a laugh, shakes his head ruefully. "God, let's just. Let's just have sex, huh?"

"Man, finally!" Dean smiles, eyes crinkling. "Get that hot ass over here, you big girl."

Sam rounds the bed, pulls Dean into his arms, buries his face in Dean’s neck, breathes him in deep.

“I want another twenty years – I want this, want you. Always, Dean," he whispers.

Dean pushes his hands into Sam’s hair, tilts his head back so they’re face to face, breathing each other’s air. “Yeah, me too. Now shut up, you're freaking me out.” He leans in, kisses Sam gently on the lips, taking the edge of his words. Sam closes his eyes and feels him pull away, when he opens them again Dean is looking at him with the ghost of a smirk playing around his mouth, “Now suck me off already, I’m fuckin’ horny, dude.”

He plants his hands on Sam’s shoulders and pushes him down to his knees. Sam goes with it, he wants this anyway, wants to suck Dean just as badly as Dean wants him to. He tugs down Dean's shorts and closes his mouth around Dean's cock, placing his hands on the back of Dean's ass and pulling him in.

Dean gasps and groans and moans, babbling incoherently through panted breaths: “Yeah, c’mon, fuckin’ suck me, Sammy, suck me good, your fuckin' gorgeous mouth, God, love you, my Sam...”

Sam smiles to himself as he works his tongue over the head of Dean's cock. Yeah, so Dean's pretty shameless sometimes, but in the words of various lame rock songs, Sam wouldn't change a thing.


End file.
